


Like Any Marriage

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Breathplay, Developing Relationship, Divorce, Drug Addiction, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Falling In Love, First Date, Flirting, Infidelity, Jealous Sherlock, Loud Sex, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Masturbation, Mycroft's Meddling, Oral Sex, Passive-aggression, Pining, Post Reichenbach, Pre Season/Series 01, Romance, Secret Relationship, Wall Sex, jealous lestrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Lestrade's relationship, from the day they met to the day they make the marriage official and everything in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do NOT own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters.
> 
> Enjoy. Leave kudos and constructive criticism. :)

When Greg first met Sherlock he was a police constable being called for a possible drunk and disorderly. 

Sherlock was lying on the frosty pavement in front of a coorperate building that had just had the crime scene tape removed from the front of it. His eyebrows were knitted together as he forced himself to focuss on the jagged ledges prodtruding from the front of the structure when he was confronted by the copper. 

"Bloody hell; are you alright? It's snowing and you 'aven't got a coat on!" Greg's gruff voice broke the silence Sherlock had built around himself. Sherlock shuddred before responding.

"I'm fine thank you. The body's just transport."

Greg frowned. "Mmhm. Is that easier than admitting that you're homeless?" he asked. Sherlock did something like a shrug that caused his shoulders to ache. "Well you realise I've been called 'ere cause you're disturbing the peace. I'm going to have to ask you to get up and leave." Sherlock shut his eyes tight as though trying to close the police constable out of existence and Greg let out an irritated sigh. "What if I got you some lunch hm? You must be hungry," he offered.

Sherlock wanted to wave the man off but his stomach growled loudly in opposition. Lestrade couldn't help but laugh at the timing. He extended a hand to the younger man as an offer to help him off the ground. Sherlock planted his feet flat on the ground and took the hand to pull himself up. As he did this something slipped from his pocket and it was all Sherlock could do to take his eyes off of the sudden change in Greg's expression. In a flash Greg hand pinned Sherlock's hand behind his back then the other and handcuffed him before bending to pick up the small baggie of white powder. Greg took off his coat and draped it over Sherlock's back before escorting him away.

Back at the station Greg had sat Sherlock down to lecture him about carrying around class A drugs such as cocaine. There was an elaborate back and forth in which Sherlock attempted to divert the conversation from his criminality by deducing various elements to Lestrade's character. Greg had clearly been separated from his wife for a month now and was living alone in a dingy flat with a piss-poor excuse for a mattress to sleep on. He had acute insomnia, bit his fingernails and grew up in a lower middle-class household that left him with a chip on his shoulder, lots of ambition. As this went on Greg attempted to hide how impressed he was with the accuracy of Sherlock's reading of his body language and under-eye bags with quips about phony psychics. 

"It's all pure science I assure you," Sherlock offered with a smug grin on his face.

"Really now? Why am I supposed to believe this isn't all just nonsense? You're a junkie." Greg pointed out.

"Stop being so crass constable you know everything I deduced about you to be entirely accurate," Sherlock huffed pulling at his restraints, his shoulder blades beginning to shriek at him in pain. "That suicide last week wasn't a suicide. There wasn't enough blood at the scene and there are too many ledges on that buidling, the body would have landed on one of them and never made it to the pavement. The body was placed there," he muttered in realisation. 

"What's that now?" Greg asked raising an eyebrow. 

Sherlock acted as though he hadn't heard Greg. "Do you make a habit of this? Picking up homeless men and keeping them cuffed up?" he asked arching his back gaining a rather devious look to him.

"Is that why you were just lying out in front of that building? For perspective?" Greg pressed on, uninterested in Sherlock's flirtations. Well, mostly uninterested.

Sherlock didn't care to waste time explaining himself. "Have you got a thing for lost boys _detective inspector?_ " he purred biting his lower lip.

"I'm a police constable, not a DI," Greg corrected. Directly after the fact he was unsure why he had chosen to remind Sherlock that he was of lower rank rather than flat-out reject his advances.

"Oh but you will be! If you let me go and give me information on cases, my deductions will have you promoted to DI in hmm two years if I'm being modest," Sherlock licked his lips playing up the fine line between the two things he knew Greg was desperate for. Sex and power. Greg still didn't look very amused but he had gotten closer. "We'd be a good team. I have so many talents you could take advantage of," Sherlock continued emphasising what he knew elicted a response from the older man. 

"You've got a big mouth you know that?" Greg breathed heavily cradling the junkie's chin between his fingers as he casually inspected his dilated pupils.

" _Please inspector_ , use it as you see fit." Sherlock challenged. Before Greg had the chance to answer the door to the interrogation room swung open. In its frame there was a tall but older Holmes in a suit with an umbrella. He looked very displeased.

"Sherlock dear we've talked about this," he frowned.

"Mycroft this is Police Constable Lestrade. Lestrade this is my brother Mycroft. He's a terrible bore," Sherlock rolled his head as he made the introductions. 

"Just Greg really," Greg offered his hand for Mycroft to shake but Mycroft declined.

"You shouldn't disregard your rank. It's highly unprofessional. Now then, I assure you that if you release my younger brother into my custody I will ensure that he is placed in a rehabilitation facility," Mycroft went straight to business without being prompted.

"Fair enough," Greg interrupted. "Just be a decent brother and keep him off the streets yeah?" Sherlock grinned at the way Greg chastised his older brother. Mycroft merely nodded agreeing to the terms. Greg promptly stood Sherlock up and took the handcuffs off of him. Sherlock took instantly to rubbing his sore wrists before attempting to offer Greg his coat. "Keep it. It's too small for me," Greg shrugged before slipping his card into the pocket, "call me when you're sober okay?" he whispered. Sherlock smiled making it his full intention.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finishes rehabilitation and he and Greg enter the world of dating at which they are both amateurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about lack of detail in some areas. I tend to want to hurry up and skip to the important parts.

Sherlock couldn't get a certain police constable out of his head. Greg had been nonjudgemental but more importantly, he wasn't boring. Since his arrest there must have been over fifty separate occasions in which he thought about calling Greg, but he knew he couldn't until he was sufficiently sober, so he put up no fight when Mycroft submitted him to a rehabilitation center. Being the clever git that he is, Sherlock managed to convince the counselors at the rehabilitation center that he was ready to start out-patient treatment within a month. Sherlock had spent most of his time in the center glued to the papers assessing a recent string of homicides and while it was a dark hobby, the counselors saw initiative and signed off on his release. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that as soon as Mycroft had picked him up from the center, Sherlock pulled a familiar, bent up business card from his coat pocket. 

_It's Sherlock Holmes. Want to meet up and talk about the Strangler? -SH_ Sherlock pounded out the text and tapped the send button.

Two minutes later his phone vibrated. 

_That was quick. You sober? -GL_

_  
_Well clearly the police constable was still separated from his wife or else he would have injected some form of rejection into his text. The nature of their last meeting was flirtatious to speak politely. Sherlock couldn't stifle a small smile. Mycroft was glaring at him from the driver's seat now but he didn't hesitate to respond.

_28 days. -SH_  Sherlock dreaded having to count the days. It was a way of admitting to the falsehood that he'd been an addict.

_Good Job. You staying at your brother's? -GL_

_  
_Sherlock frowned feeling the slightest bit ashamed before tapping out another reply.

_For now -SH_

_Good. You want to meet for a drink later? You can drink right? -GL_

_I'm not an alcoholic Lestrade. Which pub? -SH_

_There's this pub a few blocks down from the yard. That alright with you? -GL_

_It's acceptable. Say 7? -SH_

_I have a lot of paperwork. 8? -GL_

_Alright -SH_

Sherlock's first night at Mycroft's stupid little McMansion went just about exactly as you'd expect. Upon arriving and stepping into the foyer, Mycroft wanted to talk about job prospects for Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't having any of it. Though his mind was elsewhere, Sherlock managed to sate his elder brother's ramblings with nods and shrugs until the clock read 7:45.

Sherlock managed to slip by the gauntlet of inquiries Mycroft had prepared for him the instant he attempted to leave, but at the cost of his promptness. At the pub mostly inhabited by other officers of the law, Greg could be found sitting at the far corner on his second scotch and soda. It was 8:15.

"I'm glad you finally decided to show up," Greg teased as Sherlock took a seat on the bar-stool to Greg's right.

"You've been checking your watch then?" Sherlock bantered back with a smirk. Upon getting closer to the older man, Sherlock noticed that Greg's greying hair was still damp and his clothes smelled freshly washed.  _Yes. Paper work indeed._

_  
_"Oh, is that one of those things I wasn't supposed to reveal in order to appear cool and nonchalant?" Greg asked rhetorically with a bit of a laugh at the inflection. He was attempting to brush off his awkwardness as simply too self-aware to play into courting games, but he was genuinely nervous.

"I'm not someone you should consult on social protocols," Sherlock admitted before ordering a scotch for himself. Sherlock wondered if Greg would take the remark the wrong way and assume he was antisocial but he just laughed it off. In fact Greg was relieved as he was very rusty at this whole courting thing. The two proceeded to make the obligatory small-talk about Sherlock's recovery and Greg's recent bonus, catching up as it's called. All the while Sherlock eyed the manilla folders resting on the bar. Greg finally noticed and gestured to them with a sweeping hand motion.

"You can help yourself you know." Sherlock smiled as he timidly slid his fingers over the thin stack of folders. Inside of them was a collection of crime scene photos and forensics notes. Greg watched expectantly as Sherlock's eyes skimmed over each of the pages. "There's nothing connecting these victims. Not every victim has a set routine and they don't visit the same places," Greg contributed.

"Of course not. They were crimes of opportunity, all but the first anyway," Sherlock said quietly as his eyes rested on the last of the documents. Before Greg could manage to ask how, Sherlock directed his attention to the photo from the first crime scene. "There isn't any sign of forced entry. The victim was in her bedroom and re-dressed post-mortum. What does that tell you?" Sherlock prompted.

"The victim knew her killer. He was likely her lover," Greg answered.

"Yes. From what I gather it was probably an accident resulting from prolonged breathplay during sex. Afterwards he found it exhilirating and sought out the rest of the victims to fulfill his needs." Sherlock concluded triumphantly. 

Greg slid one of the files in front of him and dug through it to find notes taken on people associated with the first victim. Sure enough the victim had a boyfriend listed in the notations. "Excuse me while I make a call." Greg stood and walked across the bar and outside with his phone to his ear and Sherlock took advantage and watched him go.  _Not bad._

When Greg came back he looked quite pleased with himself. "He's being picked up for questioning as we speak," Greg informed Sherlock, "Excellent work by the way." Sherlock smiled as he lifted his glass back to his lips. Greg's lips became a thin line as he stared down at the bar in contemplation. "So...choking. Is that something you're into?" Greg asked nervously refusing to look Sherlock in the eye.

Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond. He knew the answer but wasn't sure he wanted to let on that he'd ever let someone do that to him. "N-no. Well not really. I mean...well, I've never-" 

Greg decided to stop him there out of pity. "Hey, I get it. I got married during uni, so I never really got the chance to experiment with that sort of thing either." The tension subsided as they shared a small laugh at each other's expense. 

"Why did you get married so young?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I'm not telling that story. Not yet," Greg shook his head.

"Oh come on now. You already know the worst about me, this isn't fair." Sherlock argued.

Greg smiled. "I'll tell you what. You let me take you on a proper date, and I'll tell you then."

Sherlock was persistent though. "Oh and this isn't a proper date? You showered and put on decent clothes, we're drinking. I'd say this qualifies." Greg laughed and Sherlock continued. "Is it because we haven't sat down to a meal? This pub serves food you know, we could order something," Greg was folding over in silent giggles at this point so Sherlock urged on, "and I could pretend to have the tiniest interest in paying for my food and you can insist on paying and I could act impressed." Sherlock was grinning now as he placed a hand on Greg's knee "And then once I've got you good and tipsy, you can tell me all about why you ever got married in the first place. Then I could walk you home and..."

Greg straightened up, "No that's definitely not happening," he assured.

"Really? Definitely? Final answer?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely. I don't take anyone home on the first date."

"Ah! So this _is_ a date," Sherlock declared triumphantly. Greg tried to frown, he really did, honest. His phone rang.

"That'll be the yard. Sorry." Greg fished some cash out of his pocket and laid it on the bar before flipping his phone open. "Hello. Really? Okay. Yeah sure no problem I'll be right there. Okay. Yeah okay bye." He smiled. "I'll call you Sherlock Holmes, and I'll take you on a real date." Greg adorned his coat and he was gone.


	3. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watch Greg and Sherlock follow ordinary dating protocol...or not.

Under the advisement of an old friend from uni, Greg waited the typical three days to call Sherlock, but only to tell him that work was hectic and he wouldn't be able to go out that week. It wasn't until nearly a week after the first call, Greg was finally able to schedule a dinner date with Sherlock on a Thursday. The entire week was not without contact however, as Greg did text Sherlock a few, okay maybe many times. What could Greg say? Sherlock was an enjoyable bloke to talk to, and Sherlock didn't seem to mind the breech in courting protocol. It was a pleasant change from Greg's earlier experiences back on the dating scene, in which he jumped through numerous ridiculous hoops in order to keep from scaring his dates off. Greg was starting to feel like maybe it would be different this time. Maybe, he could just be himself.

The feeling of security quickly dissapated when the evening of the date arrived. The pair had settled on going to a little Italian place called Angelo's. The concept of actually sitting across from one another to have dinner was intimidating to say the least. Greg went through the typical stages of pre-date panic. He got off work early and spent longer in the shower than he would regularly allow himself. He shaved off his stubble and applied the one good cologne that he had, a gift from his ex-wife. The next two hours before the date were consumed with searching through his already minimal closet for a proper outfit. Greg wanted his outfit to have an air of casualty with an essence of effort, whatever that meant. Here his mind was spewing off standards that really didn't make any sense to him. He finally forced himself to walk out the door in a button up, a blazer and a decent pair of black slacks. He thought he looked to old, but it would have to do. With a deep breath he took his keys, and made his way to the address that Sherlock had given him.

Greg really should have known that Sherlock would pick some place small and low-key to dine. This took a significant amount of pressure off, at least until he walked inside. Greg was greeted by a rather husky man at the front of the restaurant. "Um, table for two...my date should arrive soon," Greg stumbled through his request.

"Very well then, this way," the man extended his arm as to direct Greg to a table by the window. "Can I get you anything? Bread? Wine? A candle for the table?" the man asked once Greg was seated.

"Just a glass of white if you don't mind?" Greg asked hoping that maybe a little bit of alcohol could quiet his nerves.

"Very well sir," the man left for the kitchen, leaving Greg alone with his thoughts. The graying man drummed his fingers on the table before anxiously checking his watch. He hadn't realized that he had showed up so early. He hoped that it wouldn't put Sherlock off, making him appear over-eager or something. His server reappeared with his wine, setting it gingerly on the table in a manner much contradicting his enormous size. Greg thanked him as he left before picking up his glass to take a long, slow sip. 

When Sherlock arrived he wasn't sure whether or not Greg had already shown up. Nervously, hanging on to his injecting arm, he inquired the large man at the podium. "Yes, hello, have you seen a man...a bit older. Salt and pepper hair, average build-"

The owner smiled. "Oh yes, you're  _his_ date. Right this way then," he said before escorting Sherlock to a table in the back, by the window.

When Greg first laid eyes on the younger man, all slim lines, and tailored jacket and trousers, he choked on the rather long drink he'd been taking from his glass, quite visably in fact. Sherlock chuckled at the error before taking his seat. The owner handed both of them menus, and when he asked what Sherlock would like to drink, he simply requested a water. Greg cleared his throat as Sherlock rested his chin on the backs of his hands with his elbows on the table.

"Have you ever been to this place?" Sherlock asked.

"N-no," Greg replied.

"Neither have I. Italian is customary for first dates though, and this place seemed suitable," Sherlock admitted. Somehow Greg found this charming. 

"I like it so far. It's not too extravagant," Greg pitched in awkwardly. 

Sherlock snorted, "You should have seen the places Mycroft was reccomending. Frightfully stuffy. Harp players, caviar, the whole nine."

Greg smiled. "Is your brother always so involved in your love life?" 

"Yes," Sherlock answered flatly. "Though his input was usually based on the who rather than where."

"So he finds me suitable then?" Greg asked nervously.

"So far. He'll find a reason to complain eventually though," Sherlock said as he scanned over his menu. Greg wasn't surprised. In their texts messages to each other, Sherlock often complained about Mycroft going through his things and interrogating him about his going-abouts. 

"Got any other relatives I should be worried about?" Greg asked anxiously.

Sherlock swallowed his water a little too quickly at this moment. "I have parents yes," Sherlock answerwed "We aren't in contact though," he added as he scanned the menu. Mycroft had been bothering him about getting in touch with their parents again, at least their mother anyway, but he didn't feel ready to do so. He decided to deflect. "What about you? Any parents? Siblings? Children?"

It was Greg's turn to clear his throat awkwardly. "No. No children," there was a pause to take a drink before he began again, "My father died a few years ago. My mother lives in the country. I grew up with five sisters."

Clearly the topic of children was a sore subject for Greg. Somehow this made Sherlock want to latch onto it and run with it, though he knew it would be impolite. Luckily he was given some time to think over the implications of his response as their waiter came to take their orders. Greg remembers that Sherlock ordered a salad while he favored a plate of chicken parmesan. Sherlock will forever torture him for being such a romantic that he would remember that sort of detail. 

"Five sisters. That must have been difficult for you with your savior complex," Sherlock said after the waiter shuffled off to alert the chef.

"What savior complex?" Greg laughed.

"Well, clearly you're protective by nature. Of all the men in London you ask out the ex-junkie you literally found on the pavement?"

"You really think I could have all of the men in London?" Greg deflected with a charming smile. 

Sherlock let himself grin before clearing his throat. "Clearly finding another date wouldn't be much trouble for someone as reasonably attractive as yourself."

"Well maybe I just think you're cute," Lestrade offered. "You're more than reasonably attractive, and you're young. It wouldn't take a couple track marks and a criminal record for me to introduce myself at a bar."

"But you wouldn't. You'd be intimidated."

Greg shrugged in resignation. It's true, Greg wouldn't have the confidence to approach someone like Sherlock. In fact if Sherlock hadn't come on to him so hard the day they met, Greg wouldn't have bothered to give him his number.

"It's okay. I like that it happened this way. It isn't boring," Sherlock reassured.

"And yet, you opted for the customary first date." Greg pointed out.

"You told me if I let you take me on a real date, you would tell me why you got married so young."

 Greg propped his elbows up on the table and rested his chin in his hands. "Hmm. I bet you could figure it out for yourself."

Sherlock's eyes widenened at the proposal. "Interesting." Sherlock thought a moment. It was clear that Greg had given him the pieces to the puzzle, he just needed to identify them. Sherlock took a quick glance down and Greg's left hand, no ring, but that may have just been manners, not necessarily the sign of a bad break. Ah but look closer, no ring tan, no imprint from his finger having grown around it, he hasn't worn it in quite some time. They'd only been seperated two months, yet here Greg was, ceartainly he was ready to move on. Think back, something he may have said... "She was pregnant."

Greg touched his nose with his index finger before removing it and looking down. He was smiling but his eyes were solemn. 

"But you don't have children. Most parents still identify as parents if their children perished post-birth so that means you lost the child before birth." Sherlock continued.

"We really hadn't been together that long, only about eight months. There wasn't much there for us to go on afterwards," Greg admitted.

"But you stayed for fifteen years. Why?" Sherlock asked, for once genuinely baffled by the man across from him.

"I guess you could say I was stubborn. Marriage is a big deal, I didn't want to admit that it was a sham. I really did care for her, the foundation was just shaky." 

"So what made you finally separate?" 

"You mind if I save that for another date?" Greg asked as he knawed nervously at his own lip.

"Yeah, you're right. We only agreed on _why_ you got married anyway," Sherlock smiled sympathetically. 

Their food arrived at their table and they thanked the waiter before reaching for their utensils. They proceeded to have casual conversation in between bites and as Greg cut at the succulent cut of chicken on his plate. They talked about Greg's work which endlessly fascinated Sherlock. Greg had never felt so very listened to in his entire life. It was all so different from the eyes glazed over expression he recieved from his wife every night he came home excited about a case. Sherlock seemed to share Greg's passion for his field, at least the deductive part of it. Before you know it they were laughing over a case in which a criminal they'd come to apprehend was in the midst of climbing out of his second story window with his trousers down when they finally managed to break down the door. The aforementioned criminal mastermind proceeded to launch himself out the window and break his leg in three places. Watching Sherlock doubling onto the table in light laughter was quite the sight for Greg. He felt the tiniest hint adoration. 

Greg called for the check after some time and Sherlock immediately reached for his wallet.

"No. No. I've got this it's okay," Greg assured.

"A-are you sure? I mean I don't want to impose. It's really no issue-"

"No, let me do this. It's fine." Greg continued.

Sherlock frowned, "I know I just got back on my feet but really Greg it's quite presumptious of you. I have money I assure you."

"That's not it okay? It's just...I had a good time. I like you and uh I'd like to see you again." Greg blurted out.

"And what's that got to do with the check?" Sherlock huffed.

"It's just an expression of my interest okay? Friends go dutch. Dates...well it's customary." Greg was blushing now.

Sherlock set the bill on the table and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay," he said, "I'd like that." Greg smiled at the confirmation knowing what Sherlock was referring to.

As they walked out of the restaurant Sherlock held up his arm to hail a nearby cab before turning to Greg. "This was fun," he said.

"Yeah it was," Greg replied as the cab pulled up beside them. Sherlock's mouth went into a tight straight line as he looked into Greg's eyes, and then shifted his gaze a few times. Greg laughed. "Why are you blinking so much?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled the other man closer to him before melding his lips to Greg's. The kiss is short, so that Greg didn't have time to get over the initial shock. Looking back he wants to say that it was soft, warm, closed, chaste. It's difficult to remember after all these years though. After all, the second it happened, it ended. "Was that okay?" Sherlock asked the panicked officer. 

Greg grinned. "Yes." he said placing a reassuring hand at Sherlock's cheek, pecking the still closed lips just an inch from his own face. 

With that, Greg opened the cab's back door and watched Sherlock disappear into the night.


	4. Inquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock work to get to know the basics of each other. Sherlock finds small talk boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I still don't own BBC Sherlock or its characters.
> 
> I wanted to do a fun sort of in character form of character development to take us a bit further. A little exposition of my headcanons if you will. Enjoy.

"Where did you go to school?" Greg asked after taking a second bite from the sandwitch he'd ordered for the quick mid-day lunch they were having. 

"Boring. Ask me something else." Sherlock insisted with his arms crossed. He had a perfectly good cuppa in front of him but he was ignoring it. 

"Come now, I think it's a fitting question!" Greg griped, but it seemed that the younger man wouldn't budge. "What exactly do you classify as an interesting question hm?" 

"How far would someone have to fall to become liquid upon impact." Sherlock answered dryly. Later in their relationship, Greg would be able to make banter about the need to create a vaccum to remove wind resistence to prevent the person from reaching maximum velocity and simply bouncing off the pavement, but at the time he simply stared with his mouth agape in horror. "Not good?" Sherlock asked sans any remorse.

"No. Not really. And I meant a personal question. A question that helps me to know you better," Greg corrected him, "You know...how old are you? What are your hobbies?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well then simply phrase those questions in an interesting way."

Greg thought a moment. "How many Saturdays have you endured?" he decided.

"1456. You should know that doing simple math doesn't interest me," Sherlock answered after a two second pause. 

"So you're 28. Just turned 28 too."

Sherlock didn't verify the deduction with so much as a nod. "Why did you choose Saturdays?" he asked with a curious lilt to his tone.

"I don't know."

"You're Jewish." This was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah- how did you?" To this day Sherlock still gets nostalgic over they way Greg used to always be marvelled and ask for the explanations behind his deductions like some child at a magic show.

"Saturday is the Sabbath, that's why it stands out to you. Funny though, you ate chicken parmesan at the restaruant on our first date. Meat and dairy together. That is a shanda is it not?" Sherlock pointed out.

"I'm reform..." Greg blushed. 

"Ah, but your father wasn't and I detect that though she cares deeply for you and is soically progressive, she also identifies as conservative." Sherlock grinned at his own cunning. 

"Were your parents ever people of faith?" Greg deflected hautily.

"Not particularly." Sherlock concluded. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Greg prodded.

"It means that bibles lived in bedside tables like some sort of hotel commodity. The most observant either of them were was during the Christmas season when they would drag my brother and I to mass. I barely remember it, it was dreadfully boring."

Out of instinct, Greg had thought about asking if this meant that Sherlock was open to conversion, but he didn't want to scare him off by thinking too far into the future. Upon their engagement, Greg did ask Sherlock about conversion which was met with refusal, but certainly not because Sherlock had subscribed to an alternative faith.  God, Sherlock was only 28, but Greg was turning 40. There were so many questions that Greg would typically ask a potential mate before getting too invested. Do you want kids? Do you like the beach? Do you even see yourself married in the future? But Greg was biting his tongue, he could sense that Sherlock wasn't concerned with any of those things. Besides, the last thing Greg wanted to do just after being seperated was move into something serious again, right? 

"Do it." Sherlock encouraged as though he'd been reading Greg's thoughts the entire time. "I do hate wasting time being coy, and it would be far more interesting than talking about my hobbies so just go ahead and ask me."

Breaking his tight-lipped frown Greg conceded. "Do you ever see yourself being married?"

"No," Greg's stomach lurched slightly at the syllable. He wasn't planning a proposal at the time, but having the option was nice. "Not for lack of desire. I could imagine spending my life cohabitating with the same person but they would have to be very interesting. My inability to see myself as married stems from the uncertainty of such a thing being legal for me in my lifetime. If the right person so desired the formality however, I would settle for a civil partnership."

"How romantic." Greg offered sarcastically though fairly relieved. "How do you feel about-"

"Children?" Sherlock interrupted, "I can understand what makes child-rearing desirable biologically, but no, I would not say I have a  _pining_ to have children. Something tells me that you're undecided on the issue yourself." 

Greg was confused. Did that mean that Sherlock was undecided as to whether or not he wanted to have children? It seemed like he was suggesting that if he did choose to have children he would prefer to find a surrogate rather than adopt. This was all too much. "I'm not sure about it. I'm not worried," Greg said trying not to sound panicked.

"That's right. There's no ticking clock. Besides, you don't even know if you'd like us to be exclusive yet. I'm not even your boyfriend. I'm that man you're dating." Sherlock said not bitterly, but soothingly. It was for the both of them after all. Greg had not yet filed divorce papers with his wife, and therefore there was still a chance that Greg would go back to her and they would have a gaggle of rugrats on their own. "Is the air sufficiently cleared now?"

"Yes, it's better," Greg admitted before returning his attention to his long forgotten sandwich. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly the headcanon that Lestrade is Jewish was inspired by ariadnes_string's works in the Jewish Lestrade series. They've done really amazing work and it really influenced me, though the Greg in this story is less observant than their's and Greg's religious orientation is not the focal point of this piece. You really should go read their stuff though. Really beautiful work.


	5. Working Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets set up with some employment. It's not really what he imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own BBC Sherlock or any of its characters.
> 
> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this one. I've gotten really sidetracked.  
> Also I got all of my information on the tool sterilization from an insect pathology lab handbook, please don't lynch me if this isn't correct for human pathology...

"So how's the new job going?" Greg asks the tall figure slumped deep into the chair in his office from his place propped against his desk It isn't exactly a serious question. Greg knows damn well how much Sherlock dislikes his new job. He can't help but to find it so amusing though.

"Dreadful," Sherlock groans with his face in his hands. "It's so boring."

"And how are you liking your new boss?" Greg inquires behind a malicious shark-toothed grin.

"She tries  _way_ too hard."

You see, Molly Hooper had every intention to be strict and professional with her new lab assistant. After working her way up the ranks to the lonely position she held today, she was finally going to be in charge, and she wasn't going to let herself be intimidated. She had even dreamed about coming off as cold and calculating, in an attempt to haze the new guy to see if he was really up to the sciences. Molly wasn't cruel by nature but the idea sort of thrilled her. Whatever was to happen that day, Molly was determined to prove herself. 

When Sherlock finally arrived at the forensic mortuary at Bart's Hospital, with his freshly pressed lab coat, stark black lanyard with a brand new stunning picture ID attached, and a pair of rectangular wire rimmed glasses, Molly was notably taken aback. She hadn't expected the new assistant to be so god damned attractive!  She's quick to catch herself though. She closed her mouth which was previously agape in blatant admiration over the fine specimen, and tried to narrow her eyes into an expression of professional skepticism. As Sherlock recalls it, she just sort of looked like she was squinting at him, as though she was trying to look through him. Sherlock was the first to offer a handshake to his new boss.

"Hello. I'm Sherlock Holmes, your new lab assistant," he introduced himself to a seemingly distracted audience. 

Molly simply stared a moment, trying her hardest to make Sherlock sweat and become anxious for her approval. She had a plan dammit. Slowly she raised her hand to grip his loosely in a daintier handshake than she had hoped. Oh well, maybe Sherlock would perceive it as a sign of disgust. "Doctor Hooper," she managed to exhale after a too-long silence between the two. Sherlock's mouth was a straight line, but his eyes raked over Molly's entire person in a way that made her rather uneasy. As he did this, he took a mental note of a few things that might prove useful in the future. He noted that she had taken off her latex gloves to shake hands, so she likely wasn't as disgusted by him as her facial expression implied as it was screwed up in some repressed fashion. She wore no wedding ring, it was likely she was single. Her nails were clipped short but otherwise unmanicured, the sign of a woman who prioritizes practicality over fashion, certainly a requirement in a profession that requires such heavy sterilization of the hands. Her blonde hair was long yet tied back and a single orange cat hair clung to the knitted maroon fabric of her shirt, which she wore with a long yellow-tinted floral skirt. She wore a bright natural blush as he stared at her in silence and her chances of being single shot up from forty percent to one hundred.

Molly swallowed quite audibly and Sherlock cleared his throat to break the silence. "Would you perhaps like to give me a tour of the lab?" Sherlock asked just as Molly was about to open her mouth to say something snide along the lines of _Let's stop daydreaming and get to work shall we?_ She was clearly disgruntled at this. 

All the same she smirked. "There's really only one station you'll need to be getting acquainted with today."  She started walking away from him and without looking back to see if he was following, she gestured for him to. "I take it you're familiar with the burner, air oven, and autoclaves?"

"Yes..." Sherlock hissed out trying not to roll his eyes. Oh great. He would get to start off by being a glorified bus boy. Molly couldn't help but grin, both out of a sort of sadistic pleasure and from how god damned cute Sherlock looked when he was clearly pissed off. 

"Delightful! You've already got some supplies set up nearby that need sterilizing, I'll call you over if I've got any other materials that can go in." When he didn't respond she frowned again. "We clear?" she spoke hurriedly beginning to panic at the thought of losing her sense of authority. 

"Crystal." Sherlock muttered turning his attention the the machines and the sets of equipment beside them waiting to be sterilized. With a quaint smile, Molly nodded and left him to the work, wondering for a moment if she ruined her chances, before reminding herself that she was a professional. 

For the most part Sherlock and Molly didn't have to speak. Sherlock stocked the machines with their respective equipment types as efficiently as he could manage and Molly spent her time hunched over a fresh corpse collecting microfibres of evidence for further analysis. Occasionally Sherlock would attempt to get a good glance at the body but Molly would clear her throat and it became clear to him that he should mind his own business, though he no longer had much to do. 

"Sh- Mr. Holmes," Molly corrected herself, "Would you come here and label the evidence bags?" Sherlock perked up a bit at this. After washing his hands carefully in the sink and donning a pair of gloves for extra caution he began to make his way over to Molly and the corpse when he heard the door open from far behind him. 

"Doctor Hooper!" A familiar voice boomed warmly, "Heard you got our dead woman from yesterday morning!"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks as he watched Molly's face light up under the florescent glow of the overhead lights at examination. "Lestrade! It's good to see you. Yes I've got her right here," her smile became a touch devious, "Mr. Holmes, would you mind getting some coffee for us? I take two sugars and milk."

Sherlock didn't have to turn around to know what Lestrade's face looked like right now. "I'll take mine black, thank you _Mr. Holmes_." Greg says with extra emphasis on Sherlock's surname. Sherlock turned on his heels and faced Lestrade who was giving him a knowing smile. Greg sauntered past him toward the exam table as Sherlock left to go fetch coffee from the cafe upstairs. 

When he returned Sherlock was very careful to hand each person their respective coffee without spilling. He went to wash his hands again before returning to the table in his second attempt to label evidence. Greg was standing closely beside him so that he could almost feel his breath on his neck, it made him flush slightly as his hands steadied on a bag of green fibres. He scribbled down a code that Molly disclosed to him before she returned her attention to the newly branded sergeant. The two chatted entirely over his head about the method of strangulation, the level of petechiae, and the state in which she was found. Sherlock took careful note of the area in which she was found, eyed her dark roots indicative of a dye job that desperately needed touching up. The victim's nails were a deep red but chipped at the ends, her heels worn from excessively balancing her weight on them, upon further inspection he could spot a needle mark between each carefully painted toe. He didn't take the time to notice her face until just then...

"Have you managed to identify her yet?" Lestrade asked.

"I haven-"

"Jennifer? Genevieve? Yes definitely Genevieve I remember now." Sherlock blurted out without thinking. Molly's face was one of shock.

"Um..excuse me?" She muttered out in disbelief, blinking repeatedly. 

"She was um...a sex worker she called herself. Might want to speak with her pimp he's got a violent streak. I can tell you where to find him," Sherlock continued. 

"How on earth do you know that?" Molly asked still indignant from the interruption. 

"Oh Sherlock's got loads of friends," Greg said before Sherlock could get a chance to blow this gig, "Where's the pimp staying?" 

Sherlock pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling in thought, "It would be easier for me to show you really."

"Alright, c'mon let's go." 

"You can't just go!" Molly complained in more of a panicked whine than she'd meant to. Her lips became a straight flat line as she folded her arms in front of her chest. 

"I'm sorry, I'll just borrow him for a bit I swear!" Lestrade promised looking down into her eyes with his most winning puppy-dog eyes. 

"Fine." she huffed giving a dismissive wave of her hand. Sherlock gleefully tore both gloves off his hands and chased Lestrade out the door. Molly stood alone in her lab feeling defeated when the autoclave sounded that it had finished its cycle. 

After Sherlock successfully navigated their way to the small den that the culprit stayed at, the two brought him in for custody. Sherlock was thankful to be in the passenger seat of a cruiser for once and was practically bouncing with excitement when they brought the pimp in for questioning. Unfortunately it was D.I. Dimmock that was brought in to do the questioning to which Sherlock endlessly protested. 

"Hey, you want in on that join the academy!" Greg laughed as he patted Sherlock solidly on the back. 

"Tedious, and they wouldn't allow me." Sherlock said with a small grin.

"Yeah, probably for the best. We're working close enough. Don't want a scandal on our hands," Greg joked. Sherlock couldn't help but feel a bit flattered that Greg had begun to like him enough to actually talk about the thing they had going on like that, even if it had only been a few weeks and they were in the privacy of his office. Greg proceeded to ask Sherlock how he was enjoying being a lab assistant for Doctor Hooper, to which Sherlock expressed his exasperation. He didn't want to go back there. Not today at least. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair as he leaned carelessly against Greg's desk. Greg couldn't help but lick his lips. "You never told me you wore glasses."

"I usually wear contacts...I don't like them," Sherlock admitted absently touching the wire frame with one hand. Standing across from him, Greg gently placed his fingers over Sherlock's. 

"I think they suit you." Before Sherlock could protest that Greg only thought they suited him because of the stereotypes he'd become accustomed to, Greg pressed his lips softly against Sherlock's. Sherlock stiffened under him at first but soon relaxed as the initial shock wore off. It's not as though they hadn't kissed since that first time outside Angelo's, it was just more heady than any of the kisses they'd exchanged since. Greg's lips were moving against Sherlock slowly and thoroughly in a well matched and satisfying slide. It didn't take long for Greg's hands to move from their place on the sides of Sherlock's face to twine his fingers in his hair so he could pull Sherlock deeper into this amazing new dance they had going. Sherlock's lips parted against Greg's and he could feel Sherlock's breath hot on his cheeks and Greg didn't hesitate to give Sherlock what he wanted.

As Greg's lips parted and his small pink tongue reached out to timidly poke at Sherlock's, Sherlock took note of a few things about Greg that he thought might be useful later. Like how fucking good it felt to have Greg's fingers gently scraping against his scalp, and how soft and pliant Greg's mouth felt as he prodded it with his tongue experimentally. He observed how Greg's tongue could shape itself into a perfect dancing partner for his own wrapping entirely around it, and then massage it like a precision instrument. Sherlock internally praised the way Greg sucked on Sherlock's tongue just to pull him closer to him when the kiss got to a point where one of them might be pulling away from the other. There was this palpable chemistry between them and something more, something as base as gravity that constantly pulled them toward each other until they were practically melting against each other, the only gap between them being that created between their chests due to the obvious height difference. Sherlock noted how it didn't matter that he was taller than Greg, how Greg made him feel small, pinned between him and the desk like a pressed leaf. Wrapping his arms around Greg's torso he noted how warm the other man was, how he was always warm, even when they were just holding hands. He noted how he was always so excited when he was around Greg...he noted how excited Greg was  _right now._

Greg pulled back and exhaled through his nose. His eye lids were still heavy and half covering his eyes, he hadn't taken his eyes off Sherlock's lips. "You think you might want to go..." Greg took a breath.

"get dinner?"

"-back to your place." Sherlock answered breathlessly for him simultaneously. It was the first time either of them had made such a daring proposal. Greg wasn't sure he was ready for that yet, but God he really liked Sherlock and he couldn't deny that he'd wanted him.

Greg dragged his gaze upward to look the other man in the eye, but couldn't see anything passed the thick fog that was covering Sherlock's glasses. He'd only meant to giggle, but something about this serious moment, this serious decision about their relationship being juxtaposed with such a ridiculous looking predicament caused Greg to burst out into a raucous fit of laughter. "I'm serious!" Sherlock chuckled placing his hands on his hips pretending not to acknowledge his inability to see anything. Greg was practically doubled over at this. Sherlock noted one more thing...he loved hearing Greg laugh like this. 

 


End file.
